Night Watchman

I've experienced all kinds of snores in my lifetime, but tonight was one of the most soul touching snore nights of all time. I am in the medical surgical unit at the hospital keeping watch over Dad through the night. Needing to stretch my legs, I walk out into the hallway and decide to walk the hall. It is 3am. As I pass each room I hear snores, along with a tv playing, or radio, or beeping drips and monitors. Passing each room I think about the patient lying in the bed, and their families with them, some on cots, some curled up in chairs, some awake sitting on the end of their loved one's bed. I pass the room of my dear friend Jolee's mother and I can see the faint shadow of Jolee's blond braid draped over the hospital chair next to her Mother's bed in the dim light. They are sleeping. Mother and daughter. My heart breaks for her. She told me tonight that Hospice care begins tomorrow.

My Dad is finally snoring soundly. After a night of fitful sleep, forceful coughing, UTI discomfort, labored breathing and multiple nurse stops, he sleeps. The catheter will help him stay comfortable and asleep for longer periods of rest. I've never been so happy to hear a snore in my life.

It made me realize that on the Second Floor, snoring is a good thing. It means deep restful slumber at last. No pain, no suffering, no uncomfortableness, no interruptions, no frustrations... Just wonderful deep snoring sleep.

Heartache

I woke up wide awake at 4am this morning. I can't get my father off my mind. Walking around the house I see the pictures of him in the frames on my living room shelves. A big strapping man with an even bigger smile, full of life and action. Remembering our talkative drives together after school for so many years for piano lessons in Williamstown, I think about his sharp mind and incredible intelligence. Looking at the finely detailed wooden spoons and dollhouse furniture he made for me on those same shelves, I think about his wonderful hands. Hands that worked with wood, hands that wrote sermons, hands that played the piano, hands that held others. He can barely use his hands now.

This horrible affliction has completely taken him over. His mind, his body and now his spirit. He is bedfast, unable to move much if at all. I am very worried that he has given up. I can see it in my tired mother's eyes, she is worried too. My heart aches for them.

These past couple of weeks his condition has worsened drastically. I was so hoping that the infusion treatments would help, but he isn't responding to them. He doesn't want to exercise his muscles, he doesn't want to eat, he doesn't want to do anything. His longtime pastor friends have visited and called and counseled. There is no change. I fear that he has been overcome.

Psalm 121:

I lift up my eyes to the hills- Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip -
He who watches over you will not slumber;
Indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD watches over you
The LORD is your shade at your right hand;
The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all harm -
He will watch over your life;
The LORD will watch over your coming and going
Both now and forevermore.

I read this over and over. And keep hope.

The Other Side of the Glass Door

It's Wednesday afternoon and I am attending to Dad at their home while my Mom gets a much needed break with her lady friends at knitting club. They have planned a nice birthday "party" surprise for her today. Having friends like that makes me so happy for her that she has a bright spot in her days. While she desperately wanted to go, the anxiety of leaving Dad's side scared her to death. I likened her to a new mother leaving her baby with a babysitter alone for the first time as she nervously showed me all the supplies, medications (with full instructions) and food directions for Dad. Within minutes of her departure Dad was settled in his recliner and telling me he wanted a nap before eating his lunch.

Looking at him relaxed in his chair in his fresh, clean pjs with notes from Mom about this or that surrounding him, side table with his books carefully stacked and water jug iced down, he is in restful slumber.

We have a family tradition in the Harris family. When we are leaving from one another's house, we will stand and wave until the leaving party is out of sight. A new tradition my mother and I started a few years back was blowing a kiss to each other and waving as I would back out and leave her driveway. Today, as I stood at her back patio door and blew her a kiss as she rode away with Lena down the driveway, it occured to me that this had never happened before. I, standing at her door blowing a kiss to her as she was leaving. I stare at the empty driveway. Feeling and living her world on the other side of the glass door.

Patience is a virtue...

Patience has never been my strong suit. I look back on my younger days and how impatient I was with drivers who were too slow, people who took too long in the check out line, waiting for food to be ready, long car rides to a destination, computers that took too long to boot up. Little did I know at the age of 23 that by 42 all of those "important time stealers" would mean very little to me anymore. Hurry does not work well with patience. Why does it seem everyone is in such a hurry? What are we in a rush to finish? Do we rush and rush, only to be at the same place at the same time if we just would have been patient and let it happen naturally?

I pondered this theory when driving with my kids this past week to the mountains. Going up the last of the straight stretches at Alpena we were following a huge flatbed with a gigantic propeller wing for one of the windmills they were installing in Davis. We had followed the truck from Elkins. We were traveling at about 8 miles an hour. It was obvious by the flailing arms and "mouthed" expletives from the driver in the car behind me that he "was in a hurry". Risking life and limb, the driver swerved around us and gunned it to barely make it past the truck just before the road drastically curved to the left. He about lost it in the ditch, but made it past. The truck and I continued on our slow journey over the mountain and as we approached the gas station at the top of Laurel Mountain, we were met by a road construction crew... controlling traffic down to one lane. Guess who was there waiting in line? Mr. Speedypants. Same place, same time. Was his risk worth it? I'd like to think not.

Patience is something I'm constantly working on. My patience level took a drastic change when I got married, again when I took on each of my pets, it changed dramatically when I had my children and now, I am learning a whole new level of patience with my parents. I'm getting there, I'm just a slow learner.

I've spent my whole life being in a hurry. I'm tired.

.

The Power of Music

Anyone who knows me, knows I love music. All kinds of music. From the head-banging notes of The Violent Femmes to Chopin's soothing and melancholy Nocturnes and everything in between. One of the best things about music is that no matter what your mood, there is a song for it. And even when there might not be just the right song for it, you can make one up.

Music is the international language and bridges so many cultural divides. It heals, soothes and educates. Even when our oldest daughter Elena had her horse, it always amazed me that Leona (the horse) would respond to the type of music we played for her. Slow, calming songs when we groomed her, and then snappy songs for riding. Her natural rhythm would follow the beat of the songs. Different steps and patterns for different songs and rhythms.

Music expresses emotion. It builds us up. It calms us down. It evokes memories. It makes memories.

Music is educational! Math was never my forte, but had it not been for beats per measure, time signature, scoring and my faithful friend the metronome, I may have been lost about the fundamentals of music and mathematics. Music is a valuable teacher.

Recently music has been my motivator. Beginning the second mile of my morning walk uphill and breathing hard, if it weren't for Taio Cruz and "Higher" I don't think I could make it. My drive to work right now usually involves the old dance tune "Knock Knock Knock on Wood" to get me revved up for the day. I apologize to anyone reading this blog if you pull up next to me at the light in town. That's right. I'm the crazy woman who always plays her music too loud. If the doors are thumpin', the music is pumpin'! Even with the windows rolled up I know I have to be breaking a sound ordinance somewhere. If something happened to my iPod I think I might have a nervous breakdown.

Finally, and most importantly, music is from God. No other music touches me more than the old hymns I grew up with in church. When I sing them now on Sunday mornings I can't help but get choked up with emotion. It touches something deep inside me. I think the newer contemporary songs are great too, but they don't have what the hymns of yesteryear have. Even at Vacation Bible School I miss the old standards like "Deep and Wide" and "I've Got the Joy Joy Joy Joy Down in My Heart", they have been replaced with "hip", rockin' tunes with video. While some of these newer songs can certainly bring tears to your eyes, it's the old standards that work for me.

There is one song above all others that encompasses everything that music is to me. I cry uncontrollably upon singing it, playing it and even thinking about it. Blessed Assurance. Written by a blind hymn writer visiting her friend who was getting a new organ back in 1873. It was a jam session for the two of them. The song is now 138 years old and means just as much now as it did then, if not more. That's the power of music.

Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

Ahhhhh.... the snoring hour. It's quite a rhythmic household tonight between the thunder, subsonic snoring and raindrops on the roof. I'm watching my favorite channel, the Weather Channel, and seeing that we're in for more of the same this week.... rain. Rain, Rain, and more Rain. The only good thing? I'm not having to haul the watering can around. The roses are absolutely beautiful soaking up all this liquid sunshine.

Listening to the wind whip around the house and through our woods I can't get my mind off our new little friend. Sweetie. A stray mama kitty who has completely captured my heart. Sweetie showed up on Friday looking a bit "round" and by Sunday evening looked quite the opposite. We have scoured the woods. We have searched high and low. We have looked in the hollows of trees. We have sifted through brush piles. We have done the perimeter. We cannot find her kittens. She arrives as quietly as she leaves and is quite cunning at keeping anyone from finding her nest. She is worrying me to pieces.

Wet food, dry food, fresh water, dry cedar box with fresh towels out of the wind and rain. I have rolled out the red carpet for her. But no occupants yet. She comes and hungrily scarfs all of the food down, gets a good long cuddling and head/neck scratching, stretches out on the cool concrete of the garage floor, then .... quick as a whip, you turn your head for one second ... and she's gone. Without a trace. The cat is a master. Yoda himself would be amazed.

I was able to get her to Dr. Lutz today for a quick check and blood test (good report all around!) and back home within 35 minutes so she wouldn't be away from her babies too long. Dr. Lutz said not to worry, she must have a good hiding spot.

Still, I can't stop worrying. The driving rain, booming thunder and flashing lightning make me scared for her. She won't move her kittens if she feels they are safe, so I need to stop being an impatient control freak and let her do the protecting.

Whiskers on kittens... one of my favorite things... hope I get to see them soon.

The Virus that Started a Virus

I will be the first to admit that I have a Facebook problem. When it first came out on college campuses it was a hit. Migrating into the public sector it grew like a virus by leaps and bounds. Hmmmm. A virus. Funny to mention that as I type on my good old Dell laptop back from the repair shop with an invoice blaring the following:

22 Virus Infections Removed
924 Trojans and Spyware Items Removed
45 Hijacked Items Removed
257 Registry Errors Removed
250.2 MB Temp Files Removed
Removed Corrupted Mcafee

The expert at the computer shop explained to my husband that the majority of the mess on my computer had come through Facebook. Then to top it off as he's packing up the computer he says to my beloved... "Your wife sure does like Facebook!" Geesh. I felt like a scolded child.

My husband HATES Facebook. I get a chuckle teasing him about his Facebook page he actually registered long ago. It shows a shadowed silhouette of a man's head with the simple statement... "Bob has no friends". He refuses to participate. Its not for lack of Friend Requests, he gets them all the time, he has made the staunch decision to have unwaivering opposition to Facebook. No social networking for Mr. Donnelly. His social life is in person, never on a computer. His social networking is around a firepit with his best buddies swapping stories and doing some swilling.

Today he got his day in court.
Lydia's laptop viruses = riddled beyond recognition
Bob's laptop viruses = 0

It's irresistible for me however to sign on and see what's happening in everyone's world, to feel connected and stay in touch. Human contact. That's what it's all about. And whether you do it in person or by computer the risk is the same... you just might get a virus.